


The Lion and The Dragon

by ashangel101010



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Arkanis (Star Wars), Costumes, Darth Vader Is Confused by Hux Weirdness aka Loving Family Dynamics, Family Fluff, Gen, M/M, Mentioned Sheev Palpatine | Darth Sidious, Rama is Triclops, Young Armitage Hux
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-26 23:55:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18727465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashangel101010/pseuds/ashangel101010
Summary: Darth Vader is exposed to the wholesomeness of the Hux family.





	The Lion and The Dragon

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing in the Star Wars universe or anything in any universe; I just like writing stories in that universe.

The Lion and The Dragon

*

Suggested Theme:

Main Theme- The Execution Ballet by Trevor Morris

*

            Armitage nearly licks his lips, desiring to taste the sugary remnants of his space waffles, but he reminds himself that he’ll smudge the lipstick and his father would have to reapply it. Right now, his father adds the final piece of the costume: his horns.

“There we go, my little prince of darkness.”

“I’m a dragon, father.”

“Yes, you are, my Dragon Prince of Darkness.” He slightly amends, and Armitage remains unsmiling like true-blooded royalty.

“Woe to any knight that crosses my darken path for they shall be my playthings!” Armitage boasts and adds an evil laugh that wouldn’t curdle milk, but his father, the master of roleplay, swoons appropriately.

“But remember, the Academy commoners are off-limits, and you must listen to your guardian.” His father reminds him once more, and Armitage nods slowly, not wanting to loosen his headband’s grip on his head. It would not do for a dragon to lose his horns in such a nonviolent way.

“And don’t burn them, dragonling.” The Commandant whistles as he enters the bedroom. The Commandant gives him a look over like he’s admiring a pretty piece of armor. “Oh, so that’s what you did with the dark wolf pelt.”

“Some of it….the rest you’ll find later tonight.” His father curls his thin lips into a cryptic smile that the Commandant already figured out and grinned back. Armitage knows that he’ll be spending a portion of the night in the ‘fresher, but he’s used to that.

“Father, when will we leave?” His father smiles and brings their forehead together for a Mandalorian kiss.

“Soon, my sweet.” He is taken by the hand, and the Commandant leads them into the kitchen with its red and white checkered tiles. On the round white table is the caretaker bag, the last time it was brought out was when Uncle Den came to watch him while father and the Commandant went on a date.

“I packed extra snacks in case work lasts longer than expected.” His father tells the Commandant; the Commandant grins cheekily.

“Maize rolls with extra honey butter?”

“Of course, my love.” They kiss for half a minute, while Armitage waits patiently. He could have interrupted them, but it’s wrong to interfere with acts of love. They taught him so.

“And if we stay longer we can sleep in your other house, Commandant!” Armitage suggests cheerfully, making the Commandant snort.

“The balcony’s nice, but the view is shit and so is the food at the Academy.”

“Can I ride a giant roly-poly?”

“What a charming name for the diplopods and not wholly inaccurate, but they’re being used by the cadets today, and it’s raining.” Armitage shivers with absolute revulsion at the mention of such a heinous word: rain.

“So you’ll have to content yourself with your toys and books today.” Armitage nods slowly, still mindful of his horns. The Commandant wears the bag across his shoulder like a messenger and takes the hand of his most precious package, while his other hand picks up the red-striped umbrella on their way out and uses it as a shield. They only have to fight off the rain for two minutes before they reach the dry safety of the speeder. After that, Armitage spends nearly all the time listening to music and watching the soaked scenery pass them by. Twenty minutes later, he gets his first glimpse of the Academy.

The Arkanis Academy, as the holo-sign shimmers in the drizzle, reminds him of a prison that a mad king would lock up his innocent wives in before having them executed for something as silly as not providing an heir. Three buildings, unhappy gray stones scrambling for the sun and forced together like an arranged marriage, and a rectangular field make up most of the campus that’s overlooking a cliff. He squints his green eyes as he takes in pile of rubble that reaches several stories. He imagines that it once was a mighty tower that held the mad king’s unwanted daughter who got out by breaking the tower’s evil magic.

As the Commandant pulls into his reserved parking spot, Armitage looks towards the fields and sees the cadets in their white uniforms riding four-meter long, eyeless insects with green platings and stingers like a dark wolf. He hears some of them let out cries as the cadets electrocute them with their metal sticks.

“My first decree as Dragon Prince of Darkness is that I free these beast of burden and that these wicked humans shall be fed to them!” He nearly spits with anger to the Commandant; he gives him a hard look with his ice-blue eyes.

“That’s a decree with violence that I expect from anyone with _prince of darkness_ in their title, but I have two pieces of information that you must consider. First, the diplopods typically won’t move unless someone prods them with the electro-prod. Second, I approved this exercise, so that would mean you would have to punish me too.” Armitage chews on this for almost half a minute before giving his careful response.

“I shall spare you since I am merciful.” He holds his head up high but keeps his green eyes on the Commandant.

“Oh, thank you, my benevolent overlord!” The Commandant says dryly but doesn’t roll his eyes, which means he didn’t intend to insult him. “Now, we best be off, Your Majesty.”

The Commandant pokes his umbrella through before braving the evil rain; he goes to the other side of the speeder and opens the door. Armitage carefully puts his black-booted feet on the ground without making a splash. They then stroll together under the umbrella into the dreary administrative building. The Commandant closes the umbrella and shakes some of the rain onto the slate-colored floor. They head to the turbolift and go to the very top floor where the Commandant’s office is located.

They stroll through the silver door. The Commandant puts the umbrella in its black plasticine holder, while Armitage takes in the enormity of the office. There are several bookshelves that are nearly as tall as the Commandant and bursting with datapads, folios, and several leather-bound books that aren’t good enough for Maratelle’s library. One of the tomes shines its name: _Tarkin_.

There’s a dark square table with black leather hoverchairs surrounding it like an execution squad. A vent, shining like a halo, is above it. The desk lies a meter away from the intimidating furniture and shines darkly. The Commandant places the bag by the hoverchairs and goes to his desk. Armitage watches him take a seat and get to work, so he decides to play.

*

Three hours pass before the tempest strikes. Vice Commandant Morlish Veed stalks into his office with cold sweat sticking to his unnaturally tanned face. The silver-haired Imperial looks down at Armitage for a moment, disgust gracing his face before he pulls it back to its oily nothingness. Brendol has no affection for Veed, but the man can do his job and isn’t plotting to steal his job like so many of his former underlings tried to do.

 _Then again, Veed knows that at some point I will piss off a certain higher-up, such as Grand Admiral Sloane, and lose my job. Why waste his energy in booting me when he just needs patience?_ He nearly gives away his thoughts with a smile but manages to keep his mouth in a tight line.

“What is it, Vice Commandant?”

“Sir, we’re receiving a surprise inspection.” Sweat falls down his face and stains his squared shoulders.

“I hope so since _surprise_ is paramount on no one knowing.” Aggravation flashes in Veed’s piercing eyes, but the man refuses the indignity of letting the emotion color his sharp cheeks.

“Lord Vader is the inspector!” This piece of news is a shock to him considering how there’s a war going on, a war that the Empire stands a chance of losing.

_Why would the Emperor waste his most valuable asset on inspecting an academy that lost its importance after the deaths of Project Harvester and Project Unity? The Inquisitors and Intel officers turned over every stone in the remains of Area Null, so there shouldn’t be anything left. So maybe the Emperor is punishing Vader for his failures? Yeah, that sounds about right._

“How much time do we have, Vice Commandant?”

“Ten minutes.”

“Well, we better go and greet him.”

“Is that all?” Veed’s lips twist into a brief snarl.

“We can’t cancel classes; Lord Vader would accuse us of laziness. All we can do is give him a tour and hope that he’s not in a lethal mood.”

“Very well, sir.” Veed’s cold eyes narrow on Armitage. The boy with far too much purple eyeshadow is busy reading Naboo fairytales about holy knights saving innocent princes from wicked water dragons. Brendol pushes his wooden chair back and goes towards the child quietly reading.

“Armitage.” Rama’s child cranes his head back to look at him like a goofy owl. “I’ll be gone for a little bit, so I want you to stay in this room and cause no trouble.”

Armitage smiles and puts one thin finger to his lips. Just like his father.

 _Hmm, I better lock the door, so he can’t get out. There’s a ‘fresher here and he has his lunch and snacks, so he’ll be fine. And if the worse were to happen, he knows the house’s frequency._ Brendol goes back to his desk and opens the drawer to grab the academy-issued comlink. He hands it to Armitage who squints at it before putting it down and resumes his reading.

_He’ll be good. I just have to trust him to. And the door will be locked, so he will be. I hope._

*

Darth Vader finds Arkanis to be an insubstantial planet compared to the rest of the Empire. Or, rather, what’s left of the Empire. More and more systems are allying themselves with the Rebellion, convincing themselves that another go at democracy will solve all their problems. Fools, the lot of them.

But hope, the kind that the Rebellion and Luke are bursting with, makes fools of everyone. Much like love.

Prior to his shuttle landing on the waterlogged planet, he had no feelings toward the planet. It rained for most of the year here, which made it leagues above Tatooine, but it’s not beautiful like on Naboo. The natural ground yields to mud and turns the thunderous march of the Stormtroopers into marshy squelches.  

He only selected a few of the First Legion to make up his entourage. It’s been nearly a decade since the last Rebel plot, a plot that rendered this Academy nearly useless, and there hasn’t been a whiff of dissidence since then. There is no need to waste his elites on this trivial place.  

Right pass the iron gates, two men wait for them. Their uniforms, nearly as brown as the grass beneath their polished boots, wrap tightly around their broad, muscular frames. Both hold umbrellas shielding them from the hard rain, and this is where their solidarity ends. The silver-haired man with Tarkin-like eyes has anxiety and anger gnawing at his mind. The source of such conflict wears an emotionless frown, but his mind is far calmer and keeps reiterating the layout of the Academy, the ranks and names of faculty members, and the synopses of classes. Over and over again in a near endless loop while changing the order of his thoughts. A common technique for Force-nulls in shielding their thoughts, and this would work on Inquisitors.

_What is the Commandant hiding? Does he have ties to the Rebellion? There’s no inclinations to that in his thoughts for that, and his Vice Commandant would have certainly reported such suspicions since there’s a sliver of hope in the man for his superior to fail by his own merits. There’s a pattern with the layout; he nearly always begins with the administrative building. He’s hiding something there._

“…honored to have Lord Vader–”

“You will show me your administrative building first.” He cuts off the rote greeting of the Commandant. The Commandant’s cycle of thoughts do not crumble like they would when the secret has been found, but a question squeezes itself from the orderly grasp.

_“Is he using persuasion on me?”_

“Yes, Lord Vader.” The Commandant replies instantly; curiosity darkens the calmness. The ginger walks ahead of him like a tour guide, foregoing imperial decorum. The Vice Commandant sneers at the insolence of the younger in the presumed sanctity of his own mind, keeping his face as blank as possible. The troopers are a little shock by the sudden breach in protocol but focus their minds in surveying the grounds for security reasons.

The administrative office is a stubby, slate-colored building that sticks out of the ancient, alien fortress like a drafty thumb. The inside is imperial-approved décor of blacks, grays, and lots of cold metal.

**_BANG!_ **

By instinct, Vader slashes at the source of the sound: the vent above him. He spins away as the vent’s hatch falls down and rains down the fiery remains of a book, which sets off the sprinkler system.

“Veed, turn off the sprinkler system and comm the fire department it was just an accident.” The Commandant orders sternly before his Vice Commandant can get into the building.

“Yes, sir!” Veed walks quickly to the corner office and obeys his superior’s order. The Commandant draws closer to the Dark Lord without an ounce of fear and looks up into the darkness.

“Armitage?” He calls out.

“Yes, Commandant?” Vader looks up and sees a child poking his head down. The child has the Commandant’s face if sharpened by hunger. His night vision cannot display color well, but he knows that child has the same fiery hair and bright blue eyes as the man next to him.

“Which book did you just sacrifice?”

“The Tarkin one. Are you mad?” The sprinkler systems finally shuts off.

“No.” _I hated that one._ Vader hears from the Commandant’s mind.

“I’ve got the bag!”

“How were you able to lift it?” _Thank the God-Emperor, he didn’t throw down the bag first; I hate the food here._

“I emptied most of it, but I brought our lunches and the snacks!”

“Good, throw it down.” Immediately, a black and red diaper bag plummets down and lands on top of the wet ashes, right between the tips of their boots.   

“Can I come down too?” The child asks in his sweet, reedy voice. The Commandant looks at Vader with his bright blue eyes.

“You’ll catch him.” He’s never been asked this question, let alone be trusted to catch a child. He’s an entity to be feared and respected, but this Commandant is treating him as an equal. If his Master were here, he would’ve likely said nothing and let the child fall to his death if that was what he wished. His Master is not here now.

“I will.”  The Commandant smiles at him like they were friends.

“You can come down now!” The child changes his positioning and goes feet first; Vader catches him without any aid from the Force and holds him up by his birdy waist. And then with befuddlement at the child. The child is pale with a splash of glitter across the nasal bridge; his eyes are smeared with dark purple eyeshadow, while his lips are colored to match. The child’s attire consists of a dark tunic and trousers belonging to a medieval time with a leathery cape split into two, wing-shaped tails. A set of fake, plasticine horns kiss the fiery hair.

“Hello, I’m Armitage the Dragon Prince of Darkness!” Armitage even bends an arm and offers his tiny hand to shake. Vader slowly goes for the hand, and the child quickly tries and fails to grasp at his elbow.

“Good, no daggers, so I would like to know your name, sir.” The way the little ginger said _sir_ reminds him of a king addressing another knight from the romances that Padmé would whisper in his ear to make him forget about his fear.

“Darth Vader.”

“Dark Father.” Armitage translates effortlessly Ancient Sith to Basic, signaling to Vader that the Commandant somehow has knowledge of the Sith that only he and his Master should know.

“Lord Vader to all.”

“Lord Vader, I invite you for tea at my manor!”  

“Not your manor, oh Dragon Prince of Darkness.” The Commandant intones dryly, a shade of Tarkin’s sarcasm. Armitage turns his nose up dramatically like the snooty Motti.

“But father loves me the most, and you love father the most. Ergo, father would indulge me, and so should you.” He proclaims with utter confidence. The Commandant grins and clears his throat to prevent himself from laughing at the child’s moxie.

“Your father won’t have enough food for Lord Vader’s men.”

“I’m only inviting Lord Vader, not his squires. Besides, they can have our lunch and snacks. Like you said even tooka food tastes better than the swill from the mess hall.”

The Commandant looks at him for an answer.

“Yes, they can.” Vader swivels his head to the nearest trooper. “Commander Kimmund, finish the inspection.”

“Veed, finish the tour.” The Commandant echoes.

“Yes, sir!” Both Commander and Vice Commandant answered in unison, even though the orders left apprehension in their minds.

“Now that’s done, I have to get his books and toys.” The Commandant heads to the lift and do just that, leaving the child in Vader’s arms.

“Pull me closer, please.” Vader does that, and the child brings a skeletal hand to his grill. He feels the ridges and sweeps through them like piano keys. He smiles suddenly and plants a kiss on his grill.

“Now, you can say you’ve been kissed by a dragon!”

And with that, Vader falls hopelessly under Armitage’s spell.

*

Armitage insists that they take the Commandant’s speeder, and Vader indulges him. He expects the civilian version of a T-44 landspeeder, or even a rusted pile of junk. He’s surprised that it’s a blue Flash speeder, a Naboo vehicle. And more surprised that it’s an urban _Seraph_ -class, which is usually not sold to civilians. The blaster cannon has been replaced with a widen stern for trunk space, while a waterproof dome has been attached to the top of the speeder. The Commandant puts the bag of books and toys into the trunk, locks it, and then tosses the keys to him. The child is already inside, taking the middle seat, while the Commandant takes the passenger. Vader moves to the driver’s and closes the door shut. There’s enough leg room for him not to feel terribly cramped in this three-seated space. He turns the key in the ignition sequence and sees the tiny viewscreen in the middle turn on with the coordinates already punched in: ETA is twenty-five minutes from now.

“It was used in a hit-and-run, and the idiot put the body in the trunk and got stopped for speeding. Needless to say, the Naboo Security Forces was quite eager to get rid of it and were happy to make some profit off it. I got a friend to customize it for me to make it useful here.” The Commandant explains without any prompting as he makes sure that the child strapped himself in properly. Vader waits until he’s done and finally pulls away from the dreary Academy. It is only when the school disappears from the rearview mirrors that the child decided to break the silence. 

“Just like the manor!” The child exclaims five minutes too late.

“What happened on the manor?”

“Well, like a century ago, these two cousins married each other because the local aristocracy liked to keep property within the family. They loved each other for a bit, but then the gardener retired and this new one came to take her place.” The Commandant pauses for questions, but Vader didn’t have any he wanted to vocalize.

“Moss grows the best here. Father says that moss used to be the main foodstuff for the ancient aliens before they went extinct. Then, the humans from the other Regency Worlds arrived and decided that the moss would be great for garden parties.”

“That it is, dragonling, and great for rashes.” The Commandant continues with the story. “The new one was this beautiful man, and the husband loved beautiful things. Unfortunately, his wife didn’t believe in sharing, fired the gardener, and when her husband came to confront her, she bludgeoned him to death with the family rolling pin. She buried him in the back.”

“But not forever!”

“Not forever. Only until the moss leeched all of his skin and organs, so about thirty years later. She then stuffed the skeletal remains in the vent to the laundry room.”

“And I found him!”

“Yup, Rama cleaned him up and became Armitage’s best friend. The end.”

“His name is Sir Ludo, now the end!”

_This is a wildly inappropriate story for a child, especially a child to be telling. Considering the dopey smile on his face, he probably doesn’t even know what he’s talking about. He’s like what? Three? Five? And he’s already got a skeleton in his…vent. And this “Rama” must be “father” in this story. So was there a surrogate? Or was he grown in a tube? Wait, the report said he was married to a Maratelle Hux. So he’s cheating on his wife with this Rama? I guess Rama is for free love then if he’s still alive._

“……..We have another fifteen minutes before we reach your home.” Vader decides to voice, partially wondering and dreading what the duo will say next. Armitage decides action over words and turns on the music player. His purple lips stretch impossibly wide and he opens his mouth:

_“Flash! Ahhhhhh-Ahhhhhh!”_

*

Rama, formerly known as Triclops, draws his veil over his face. On Arkanis, household servants, from maids to kitchen workers, are expected to keep themselves covered up on their employers’ estates. It was to deter the lower ranked from being too intimate with their employers. Unfortunately, adultery thrived in the Age of the Empire, and even Empress Leeya was rumored to be sleeping with half of her cleaning staff.

Neither Brendol nor Maratelle ever requested or forced him to cover himself. He likes to dress this way, particularly in the female servant attire since they were more fashionable compared to the men’s. Lace is his favorite material, and he respects the Arkanisian class sterotype that only servants wear lace.

He stands watch at the door, waiting for his Bren and Armitage to bring Darth Vader into their home. Bren had enough time to warn him while he was gathering Armitage’s books and toys from his office. His bass voice warbled with worry and dulcet tones were needed to soothe his older lover’s nerves.  

Rama told him that all will be well. Bren presumed he had a plan, and Rama let him believed that. He does know all of the weaknesses of Vader’s suit and could quite conceivably kill the cyborg without much harm to himself. But there were several problems with that. First and foremost, he would never learn why Sidious sent Vader here. Second, Sidious would know if someone killed his apprentice and come looking for him. And if they were found, Sidious would gladly rip apart his happiness like he did with his innocence. If it came down to that, Rama could simply kill his father.

But nothing is ever simple for House Palpatine.

The doors, brown wood stained with red glass, swing open easily. The one he loves the most is riding Darth Vader and gripping the sides of the black helm like lion’s mane. Vader was once comparable to a lion; unburnt, unbroken, unmoored in his golden youth, and his father bled him dry. But fat lot it did for him, Anakin never gave him unlimited power. Neither can Vader. And certainly not Luke Skywalker if what the Force whispers to him can be believed.

His thin lips curl upwards, and the remnant darkness in him, eternally hungry and silently screaming, nearly inspires him to lose his composure and laugh. His son laughs, not from malice, but from the purity of his soul.

“Father, father, I’m riding a giant!” Armitage throws his hands up like he’s riding a rollercoaster. Vader takes it all with good humor, or, more likely, to cultivate Rama’s trust.

His shimmersilk petticoat rustles as he closes the gap; he then get on the tips of his toes and plucks his son from those dark shoulders. Armitage wraps his lithe arms around his thin neck; he kisses his cheek through the veil like he’s done many times before when they were among Maratelle’s societal colleagues.   

“Are you hungry, my prince?” Armitage nods with a goofy, toothy grin.  

“I’ll make lunch, while you and Bren wash up.” He puts Armitage down, and he run towards Brendol and grabs a hand to try and pull the man forward. Bren’s blue eyes bore into him like twin daggers. Rama quirks his thin lips into a very small smile: it will be alright.

“We’re going, dragonling.” The other father and son pair clamber up the great stairway and headed to the west wing. He turns back to face Vader.

“Would you assist me in the kitchen, Milord?” He asks demurely, bracing himself for rejection and anger.

“I would, but I want to see your face.” Rama’s breath catches in his throat much like a cry.

“Lift up my veil if you dare.” He sounds like his father in his youth: impulsive and wounded. Vader hesitates at the tone like he’s imagining Rama electrocuting him with the Force. Rama folds his gloved hands behind his back. Vader reaches for the veil, tightly gripping the ends like he’s about to tear the offensive article off. He pulls it back slowly and reveals the face. Rama hears a hitch in Vader’s mechanical breathing.

“Do I please you?” He mocks the fears that thousands of arranged spouses have asked.

“You’re……..”

“I see words have failed you. Perhaps, cooking will aid your memory recovery.” Rama teases halfheartedly.

“Were you this insolent with your father?”

Rama brings a laced finger up to his lip and winks.

*

The spidery hands, free of their lacey web, stir the red powder in the blacken pot into a bleeding spiral. His long, white hair is tied back by the veil. Without the veil, the jagged circular scars around his temples mar his otherwise royal face.   

“Lord Vader, if you continue to dice up the red gourd, it’ll be mush just like the Naboo lettuce.” Vader stops his chopping and thinking at the force in his voice. The young man is a baritone just like his father.

“What Naboo lettuce?”

“The Naboo lettuce you brutally mashed to a pulpy death when you were making a berbersian crab salad for your two-year-anniversary. You do know that they sell the lettuce pre-chopped in most foodstuff stores.”

_“Ani, you do know that they sell the lettuce pre-chopped in most foodstuff stores.” Padmé sighs but smiles all the same._

_“But where would the fun be in that?” Anakin grins and pulls his wife into a soul-searing kiss._

“How do you know about that?” His vocoder distorts the whisper into a harsh rasp.   

“Give me the board.” The man holds out his hand, and Vader leaves it empty. “I need to add the gourd in so it can add flavor to the soup.”

“Give me the answer.” He expects a sneer to appear on the man’s face just like when his Master gets denied anything nowadays. However, the man pouts.

“Fine, you wounded baby. I’m strong in the Force, obviously. So my father decided that instead of giving me to the man who saved my life, he gave me to the Prophets of the Dark Side. He was hoping that I would become his Eye since I’m a _master_ at seeing the distant past, but I…. _he_ decided that I was a disappointment and got rid of me.”

“You’re still here.”

“There’s a fate worse than death; you would know since you were born into it.”

_No, he wouldn’t. Not to his own child!_

“What crime did you commit to deserve such a fate!?”

“The greatest crime of all in his eyes: I loved him.”

Rama takes the board without resistance and adds the red gourd in.

“You don’t love him anymore?”

“Do you?”

“I love my son.”

“How quaint considering how badly you were hoping for a girl, which you do have but chose the boy twin over her.”

“……………What?”

“Leia Organa is your daughter.”

“WHAT!?”

*

Armitage snuggles under his favorite blanket, the one with black stars all over it, and dreams of a glittering owl and goblins. But then the dream shakes away, and he rubs his eyes awake. He sees the Commandant hovering over him. He’s dressed in the green sweater-vest and dark trousers that father got him for Life Day.

“Is it luuuuuuuuuunchtime?” He yawns and sits up.

“Yeah, hungry?”

“Famished.” He pushes off his blanket and then folds it in half vertically and then once more horizontally, making it a square just like his father taught him. He wiggles off the bed and slips his pink-socked feet into snow-white slippers. He gambols into the halls causing the back of his flap collar to slap his back when his slippers hit marble. The Commandant looks on with bemusement.

At the round table, his father is sitting with Lord Vader looming behind him like the specter of Death. Armitage smiles brightly at him as the Commandant helps into the child seat right across from father, and then he takes a seat on father’s right side like he normally does.

“Today’s lunch is red gourd soup with potato dumplings on the side.” His father leaves out the tea, but it’s always fun figuring out what kind of tea is steaming from his little white tea cup. He takes a delicate sip just like his father.

 _It’s sweet and makes me warm like a sunny day, but it’s not completely solid just like space waffle syrup. It’s jeru tea!_ He beams proudly when his father reads his mind and nods at the answer, while Vader just breathes loudly.

“Lord Vader, won’t you sit with us?”

“I prefer to stand.”

“Aren’t you hungry?”

“My suit provides me sustenance.”

_Sustenance? That’s related to “sustain.” Which means to support? So his suit gives him everything he needs?_

His father nods.

“Oh…is it magical?”

“No, it’s the finest prosthetics that the Emperor could afford.” His father’s thin lips draw into the tight line of disagreement. The Commandant snorts out some of his tea back into his cup.  

“I didn’t think Leto cared that much about technology.”

“Who is Leto?”

“I’m sorry, I meant Leto II the God-Emperor.”

“Wrong emperor, dragonling.” The Commandant cuts in before Vader or father could speak up.

“Ming?”

“Nope.”

“The Dark Empress?”

“Black Queen, and no.”

“skekSo?”  

“Heck no.”

“Ozai?”

“……….No.”

“…………..Well, it can’t be Jareth since he’s the Goblin King, and kings aren’t emperors.”

“You’re correct.”

“Leeya?”

“Never.”

“……………….I give up.” He drinks a spoonful of the gourd to perk himself up.

“You never taught him about the Empire?” Vader asks his father.

“It’s not like he’d ever play a role in it.”

“He’s a citizen.”

“No, he isn’t. Nor am I.”

He drinks his tea slowly, letting the warmth calm the fluttering moths in his belly.

“You were born in the reach of the Empire.”

“Neither of us were born in hospitals, so we don’t have the proper flimsi-work. And even if we were, it wouldn’t have been given to us. Mutants are below aliens in the Imperial hierarchy.”

“………..There’s nothing wrong with your child.”

_What about father?_

“Nor you.” Vader insists as though he could read minds too.

“I have a third eye on the back of my head; my hair is hiding it. That’s why I was named Triclops.”

“But your name is Rama.”

“Kendalina gave him that name.” The Commandant pipes in and quickly stuffs a potato dumpling in his mouth when father sends him a withering glare.  

“Yes.” His father frowns.

“On Kessel?” Vader loudly whispers.

“Yes, Vader, and she died.”

“She was burned at the stake like a witch.” Armitage finishes the story for his father’s sake. His father looks past him, and perhaps into the distant past. The Commandant stops eating and lays his right hand on top of father’s right hand.

“Bren……I have to see my father.” His father announces as though they were his last words at the gallows.

“Okay, should I send Armitage to Den?”

“I didn’t know I had a grandfather. I thought he was dead like grandmother.” Armitage mumbles to his soup.

“He’s dying in a lot of ways. Armitage, would you like to see him?” His father’s assured voice weakens to a rasp rattling between his slightly crooked teeth and breaks apart in the thick air. Armitage doesn’t like making decisions when his father refuses to guide him to the right one. He looks at the Commandant and remembers this past summer when they went to a local beach to watch nature at work.

_“Dragonling, all choices have consequences, even if you choose to do nothing at all. You might find it unfair, but fairness isn’t found in nature. The baby bantha wandering on the Arkanisian shoreline will get eaten, even though you find it unfair it should lose its life to a big bully. It made its choice and it will suffer the consequences.”_

“Yes.”

“Lord Vader, you’ll have to introduce us.”

His father flashes him a small, weary smile.

“I will.”

“Father, I promise you that all of us will have tea together and laugh about it someday.” Armitage swears to his father, the most important being in the universe.

“Perhaps, someday.”

*

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Comments: Here are the links-
> 
> Here is an image of Armitage’s horns. I had so much to choose from, but I think this one gives Armitage a charming regality: [Link](https://i.pinimg.com/236x/cd/e0/ef/cde0ef758c8abf0ca60b015cf612c122.jpg)
> 
> Here is an image of a dark wolf. These wolves had giant scorpion stingers and earned the respect of the Weequay because of their viciousness and tenacity. Their skin is mostly leather with spurts of fur, so part of the pelt became Armitage’s wings, and the rest was used for a nice rug to lay nakedly on before a roaring fire. Or it would’ve been: [Link](https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/starwars/images/0/07/Darkwolf-tur.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20110111191920)
> 
> Here is an image of the Flash landspeeder. They’ve actually been used beyond the prequel movies such as in Rebels on their Atollon base: [Link](https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/starwars/images/0/04/Flash_Speeder.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20120211051046)
> 
> I don’t know if there’s really a rank known as “Vice Commandant” in the Empire, but there isn’t anything discounting its existence. Also, Morlish Veed comes directly from Legends/EU, specifically from the Star Wars: Legacy comics, and I intend to use him to fill up the lackluster faculty of the Arkanis Academy. 
> 
> Considering the ending, odds are I’ll write a sequel to tie up the loose threads in this one-shot. Hopefully, I won’t create too many threads in the next one and lose track of the web. Also, Happy Revenge of the Fifth.


End file.
